


TLC and Domesticity

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [49]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Domesticity, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, TLC, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond takes care of M for one evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TLC and Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts).



> Written for Wolfsbride who wanted to see Bond looking after M after she'd had a bad day at work that wasn't caused by anything he did.

M sheds her bodyguard in the entrance hall of her building and takes the lift up to her flat. She's relieved to be home at last after a hellish day at work that didn't, for once, have anything to do with a certain Double-0 agent.

The lift doors slide noiselessly open and M steps into her hallway, then stops as she registers the scent wafting from the kitchen. Geoff's been dead these past two years, so there shouldn't be anyone in her kitchen – yet someone clearly is.

She steps out of her shoes, then slips a hand into her bag and removes the Beretta which she carries with her at all times. She quickly checks that it's loaded, then she stealthily makes her way to the kitchen. The door is standing half open, so she slips around it, and steps through into the room – to find James Bond, suit jacket and tie off, apron on, standing at the cooker stirring something in a saucepan.

He turns and sees her standing just inside the door, and lifts an eyebrow at her. "You were expecting a cooking burglar?" he teases.

She scowls. "What are you doing here – and don't be a smart-arse," she adds when he opens his mouth to answer.

"I know what a shitty day you've had," he answers simply, "and I thought you might appreciate it if, just for once, someone looked after you."

"I'm not incapable of looking after myself, Bond," she snaps. "I may be old, but I'm not in my dotage yet."

She turns away, even more irritated now, but before she gets further than the doorway, his hands are on her shoulders and Bond turns her around to face him.

"M," he says gently, "that wasn't what I meant at all. In fact, nothing was further from my mind." He lifts his right hand to cup her cheek, and she feels a prickle of unwanted tears at the tenderness in his face and voice. "The PM has been giving you hell today, and I thought it might make you feel a little better if I made you dinner. I was going to suggest taking you out to eat, but I thought you'd prefer to stay home, once you got here."

"Thank you, James."

He slides his hands down and wraps them around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She stiffens at first, startled by such an uncharacteristic gesture, then she relaxes as she realises it's nice to be comforted now and again.

"Dinner's not going to be ready for at least half an hour," he tells her, "so why don't I run you a bath and you can have a nice soak first?"

She pulls back to look up into his face. "Who are you, and what have you done with James Bond?" she asks lightly.

He chuckles. "Did you think I don't know how to look after a woman?" 

"In some things, Bond, I don't doubt you're more than capable," she retorts, then bites her lip as she realises just what she's said.

He gives her a very complacent smile. "I am more than capable in many ways."

She pokes at his chest. "Behave."

He releases his hold on her and snaps to attention, throwing a sharp salute. "Ma'am!"

"Foolish boy," she tells him, but she can't help smiling, too.

"I'll run that bath for you, then, shall I?" 

"This is all very irregular, Bond," M observes.

"Is it? Well, you know me, M – I'm not very good at keeping rules."

She snorts. "Don't I know it!"

007-007-007

Bond runs the bath for her, then returns to the kitchen, and M enters the bathroom to find the deep marble bath is full almost to the brim with foaming water. She can tell he's used her favourite bubble bath, and wonders how he knew which one to choose, since there are three bottles on the shelf by the sink, and none of them is more empty than the others. She decides she doesn't want to know in case the answer's too disturbing to think about, and instead she steps out of her slippers, sheds the robe she's wearing, then climbs up and into the bath. 

It's just as well Bond's in the kitchen with a closed door and several feet of corridor between them, otherwise he'd hear the moan of pleasure that involuntarily escapes as she sinks into the hot, scented water. She luxuriates in the prospect of having nothing to do this evening except be looked after; admittedly, the idea of being looked after by James Bond, a trained killer, might disconcert some, but M somehow senses that tonight, at least, she can trust him to behave in a gentlemanly fashion – not that she thinks for one moment that he is remotely interested in her sexually.

She shakes her head at that thought, then leans back, resting the back of her neck on a folded towel placed on the rim of the bath. She closes her eyes and allows herself to simply doze as she feels the tension draining away from her limbs.

007-007-007

When M steps out of her bedroom, dressed in a loose-fitting pair of blue trousers and a paler blue blouse, she finds Bond waiting a few paces away. He's donned his tie and jacket again, and the apron is gone; there's a tea-towel over his right arm, which he offers to her, elbow out, in the most ridiculous fashion, and she smiles.

He smiles back. "Would madam care to be seated?" he asks, and she can't help chuckling in response.

"What am I going to do with you, Bond?" she asks lightly, slipping her hand into his crooked elbow.

"Shouting seems to be your favoured thing," he observes, smirking, and she swats his arm with her free hand.

"Didn't I tell you to behave?"

He immediately adopts the most solemn and contrite expression she's ever seen him wear, and she laughs. "Lead on, Macduff." 

"That's 'Lay on', ma'am."

His swift response surprises her, but not as much as his answer. "I didn't know you were a fan of Macbeth."

He shakes his head slightly. "I'm not. He's an idiot, and she's clearly crazy, but I studied the play at school and that particular phrase stuck in my head."

"I see." 

While they've been talking, he's been leading her into the dining area of the sitting room, and he now relinquishes her arm, then pulls out a chair for her to be seated. Besides finishing cooking the dinner, he's also found the time to lay the table, and she's impressed, despite herself, at the efforts he's gone to: there's a pristine white cloth spread over the oak dining table; a polished and sparkling crystal wine glass; her best cutlery and china; and a snowy white linen napkin in its carved napkin ring. 

She looks up at Bond and he smiles. "I trust everything is to your satisfaction, ma'am?"

"Yes, thank you James."

He nods. "I'll just go and fetch the first course."

He disappears towards the kitchen before she can respond; she's surprised that he's gone to the length of preparing more than one course, and is full of curiosity about just what he's cooked for her.

He returns carrying a plate on which resides a slice of bruschetta, laden with tomatoes and basil, which he sets before her. She looks up at him, actually amazed.

"When did you learn to cook, James?"

He smiles. "My aunt insisted on teaching me when I was about twelve. I don't often cook for myself, but I haven't forgotten everything she taught me, I'm glad to say."

M picks up the plate and gives a delicate sniff. "It looks and smells delicious," she observes, picking up her fork.

"It's not poisoned," he says quickly.

She laughs. "I didn't think it was. Thank you."

He gives her a nod, then heads to the kitchen again, returning with a bottle of wine this time. M's already tucking into her starter, and she merely nods her thanks when he pours her a glass.

The main course is salmon and couscous, and the dessert is the most sinful-looking chocolate pudding she's ever seen. 

"You didn't make that, did you?" she asks, somewhat disbelievingly.

Bond shakes his head. "No, that one I did buy in. I didn't have time to do the dessert as well."

M smiles. "It doesn't matter. You have impressed me this evening, James. And I'm very grateful, too."

He smiles back, clearly pleased. "Thank you, ma'am."

She shakes her head slightly. "I think, just for tonight, that you may call me by my name."

He lifts an eyebrow, obviously surprised by this permission, then gives a quick nod. "Thank you, Olivia, that means a lot to me." He turns towards the kitchen. "I'll just go and make the coffee."

"Bring one for yourself, too, James." 

He half turns and looks back at her, then smiles again. "Thank you."

007-007-007

Twenty minutes later, M is sitting sideways on the sofa, her back against the arm, and her legs stretched out in front of her, a cup of coffee in her hand. Bond is sitting at the other end of the sofa, his own legs stretched across the floor. He's shed his jacket and tie again, at her suggestion, and his eyes are closed. She watches him as she sips her coffee, and thinks that Vesper was foolish to throw away what she had with Bond for the sake of Quantum. It's not a thought she has any intention of sharing with him, however.

She flexes her toes, unable to prevent a small sigh from escaping as she registers how much her feet are aching still.

"Would you like a foot rub?" Bond asks.

She feels her face flush slightly and hopes he hasn't noticed in the dim light. "I am not sure that would be entirely appropriate, James." 

He turns his head to look at her, and even though the light _is_ dim, she can see he's scowling. "I'm offering to massage your feet so they no longer ache, Olivia," he says, his tone a little cold. "Nothing more."

She bites her bottom lip. Of course he wasn't offering anything more: he's more than thirty years her junior, and can have any woman he wants, so why would he want an old woman whose body is far from slim, tight or fit? 

"Thank you, James. I would appreciate that."

He nods, then sets down his cup on the coffee table before the sofa, before shifting sideways, lifting her feet so that they're in his lap once he's resettled himself. 

M had always suspected Bond would be good at massage: despite the size of his hands and the fact that he's a trained killer, she knows that he can be very gentle when he chooses, and he now proves her right. She can feel the tension and aches in her feet easing, and she has to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from moaning in pleasure because she doesn't want to give him the wrong idea.

She closes her eyes and allows herself to relax properly against the arm of the sofa.

007-007-007

Bond eyes M with a tender smile lurking at the corners of his mouth: she's finally unwound enough to fall asleep, her feet in his lap and her head resting against the back of the sofa. He carefully lifts her feet and slips off the sofa, then pads away to her bedroom to fetch a blanket. He could, of course, put her to bed, but he doesn't want to risk waking her by trying to move her, and also, he can't think M would appreciate him undressing her and putting her into her pyjamas. 

He pauses for a moment in the corridor and leans against the wall. Massaging M's feet had already aroused him, and now the thought of undressing her is making it harder for him to keep his desire under control. He can't help thinking that making love would do M the world of good, but he doubts she'd have any interest in him as a sexual partner: he suspects M sees him as lacking in sufficient sophistication for a woman like her, and he can't blame her for that. 

He sighs, then returns to the sitting room where he unfolds the blanket and spreads it over M, tucking it gently around her before placing the lightest of kisses on her forehead. Then he goes to the kitchen and does the washing up by hand, despite the fact that M owns a dishwasher.

Once the kitchen is returned to the pristine state it was in when he first arrived, Bond turns out the lights, then he checks to see that M is still asleep, before letting himself out of her flat. 

007-007-007

When M awakes she senses that she's alone, and she tosses aside the blanket with which Bond had covered her, then prowls around her flat to confirm that Bond has left. She notices that the kitchen is clean and tidy, and marvels that his domesticity extends so far, given he has a housekeeper to clean up after him in his own flat.

She returns to the sitting room and picks up the blanket, folding it up neatly, then makes her way to her bedroom. As she changes into her pyjamas, she can't help reflecting that Bond has greater depths than she's previously given him credit for, and as she settles into her bed and turns out the light, she resolves to find a way to thank him for his care tonight, she suspects she'll sleep far better than she might otherwise have done with Bond's intervention, and she is grateful to him.

Perhaps, she thinks sleepily, she'll take him out to dinner somewhere before he goes off on his next mission – going to his flat to cook dinner for him is a tempting prospect, but she suspects the temptation would prove too great to keep her from making a fool of herself.

Yes, dinner at one of her favourite restaurants would be an appropriate means of showing her gratitude to Bond. She smiles as her eyes close and she begins to slide back into sleep.


End file.
